


Teacher's Pet

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, fake moustache, watched the season three trailer a few too many times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: When a case requires them to dress up and go undercover at a nightclub, Jake goes back to his Oklahoma roots and dresses like a traditional cowboy while Cassie dresses up as a teacher. Neither have a real problem with each other's costume, if only she could take him seriously. Or, the fic in which the author attempts to explain Jake's fake moustache from the season three trailer and things spiral rapidly out of control.





	

To her credit, she does  _ try.  _

Now, given, it isn’t very hard and it doesn’t last very long, but she does do her best not to laugh. It’s just a little funny seeing Jake Stone, master of art history, and a genius with an IQ that could make Einstein weep, dressed up in traditional cowboy garb. He can be a bit of a wild cowboy; crazy for all of his brilliance but that was metaphorical.  _ This  _ is very literal. 

It’s not the clothes, really. A simple black button-up with the faintest of gray pinstripes tucked into dark jeans isn’t all that much different from his normal, everyday wear. Hell, she’d be willing to bet, the clothes came from his own wardrobe, he just left the sleeves buttoned around his wrist and tucked the shirt in. The cowboy hat wasn’t a change - she’s seen him eyeing them with a familiarity - and okay, the bolo tie was a bit different, and the belt with the concho on the end seemed a little out of his comfort zone but he still managed to make it look good. 

His costume is awesome, handsome, and practical for cool autumn nights in Portland. 

The only real problem is the  _ caterpillar  _ he glued to his face. Well, okay, it wasn’t an actual caterpillar, but the fake mustache certainly looked like it should be weaving a cocoon and settling in for it’s inevitable metamorphosis into a butterfly. It’s too thick and dark and shiny, even for Jake with his mop of dark hair. 

It reduces to Cassandra Cillian to peals of helpless laughter that quickly has Jacob Stone turning to her, offended, and trying to speak around the  _ thing  _ occupying more top lip than he actually possesses. 

“S’meth’n funny?” one eyebrow arcs sharply, the intense blue of his eyes shadowed by the brim of his black hat. 

“Nope.” Cassie pops the last syllable in hopes of placing emphasis on her sudden sobriety. 

His eyes narrow and that, in tandem, with the mustache causes Cassie’s face to redden and she splutters a few times before finally giving in to another fit of giggles. Jake looks vaguely offended, but unable to help the smile curling his mouth, because this is something he makes sure to revel in. He’ll be the first to admit, his whatever it was with Cassandra had been tumultuous at first. They teetered between friendship and outright disliking each other, simply because Jake had been a bit stingy with his trust and while Cassie was too generous with hers. 

But, they’ve come a long way, and despite his best efforts, Jake finds himself more willing to trust her with every case they work together. And, she’s pretty damn beautiful, he must admit. 

“You’re lookin’ awful pretty, ma’am.” the compliment drips with a warm Oklahoma drawl that makes Cassie blush, in spite of the thing on his face that makes it difficult to take him seriously. 

“Thank you, sir.” Cassie slips back into character, stare crisp and cool. 

Her own costume had taken a bit of restraint but she’d done alright. A white blouse tucked into a slim-fitting black pencil skirt along with sensible heels and a pair of glasses had completed her teacher’s outfit. She’d applied minimal make-up, pulled her red curls back into a severe bun, and had slipped a few props into her backpack should she need them - an apple, a ruler, a red pen, and a fake paper with a big red F marked on it. 

Jake’s surprise is a little more genuine than he’ll admit to but he responds succinctly, returning her frosty attitude, even if it was a part of her costume. “You’re welcome.” 

“ _ Miss  _ Cillian.” she corrects sternly, eyes twinkling playfully. “Mind your manners, young man.” 

His stiff posture, assumed at the first sign of Cassie’s cool tone, drops. She's playing. Good. It'd really bug him if he did something to upset her,  even unintentionally. Grinning around the fake mustache attached to his lip, he winks and lets his drawl slip a little further out. 

“My apologies, Miss Cillian.” he takes his hat off, holds it against his chest, and reaches for her hand, lifting it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. His mouth is warm and his kisses dry and a little fuzzy but not unpleasant. “It would seem my manners have skipped town in the presence of a beautiful woman.”

“Apology accepted.” Cassie breathes. 

His lips shift and it's all she can do not to giggle at the interesting way it moves his mustache. His head tilts and he's sort of cocky in the way he says. “I was a teacher's pet, y’know.”

Now, why is that not a surprise? 

She can just imagine little Jacob with a mop of black hair, eager smile with just enough of a gap between his teeth to give him a lisp, and perpetually scraped knees, hanging onto every word, soaking up every drop of education like a sponge. “Well,” her mouth is moving before her brain has time to process and stop her. “I bet you were the cutest little genius in class.”

It's Jake's turn to blush; hot red spreading across his cheeks and down to his neck. It's been awhile since someone paid him such a compliment. “I’m flattered, Miss Cillian.”  

Cassie smiles. 

Here she thought nothing would come of this Halloween. When Eve Baird announced that their latest clipping was centered around a popular nightclub in Portland, Cassie hadn’t been all that excited. She’d never done well with crowds, or alcohol, and the thought of wearing some ridiculous costume had only served to exacerbate the inevitable problem. At least, in her mind. 

The door isn’t really necessary, given that the Annex is only five minutes from the club, but it doesn’t stop her from dragging her fingers along its surface with a sense of longing. She wants to go somewhere, to be doing something that doesn’t involve Halloween. Maybe somewhere like Rome or some tropical island where magic rules thickets of dark jungle and she can lose herself in the humid heat. 

“You okay, Cass?” 

“Fine!” 

He knows she’s lying but he also knows she doesn’t want to talk about it, so he quietly slips his hand into hers. The cooling October air chills them almost to the bone and by the time they reach the nightclub, they find relief in the smoky heat, and sink into it with grateful sighs. Jake’s hand instinctively tightens around Cassie’s as they press through the crowd of gyrating bodies, sweat and glitter pouring by the gallon, made-up faces illuminated in the orange and green strobe lights. 

… 

“How about we have that pint?” Jake has to tilt his head down to be heard over the roaring thump of a bass and his mouth just brushes the outer part of her ear, moustache tickling the sensitive flesh. “It won’t be in a glass but I still owe you a drink.” 

“Okay!” 

He squeezes her hand and excuses them from the group, leading her to the bar. Eve and Flynn are content to stay on the outer edges of the crowd while Ezekiel dives in and makes himself at home in the throng of grinding bodies. 

Cassie stays close to Jake, wrapping both arms around one of his (and,  _ oh wow _ , does he have big arms!) and examining the event with wide, curious eyes. Ezekiel, ever the swashbuckler, might have enough confidence to toss himself into the throb of it, but she finds herself intimidated and wishing she could go home. 

“Two of whatever’s your best.” Jake leans across the bar to make sure he’s heard. 

“You got it, Cowboy.” the bartender winks flirtatiously, long fake eyelashes forming dark crescents against a glittering cheekbone. 

Well. 

Isn’t she something?

A supposed Little Red Riding Hood, but Cassandra suspected there was very little costume to be found under her cape and the long braids of fiery red did little to conceal the tops of her breasts. Then again, that might have been the point. 

“Thank you.” Jake is polite but still curt enough to let the bartender know he’s off-limits. 

When he’s got a cute little redhead wrapped around his arm, with those wide blue eyes, and that costume presenting him with a personification of his teenage locker room fantasies, he couldn’t care less about a bartender, whose boobs would inevitably prove to be the largest part of her. 

“Jake…” 

“I’ve got you, Cassie.” he turns into her, freeing his arm from her grasp and wrapping it around her body. “I don’t need anyone else.” 

Without really thinking about it, she leans up to kiss him. It would have been fine - Lord knows they’ve kissed enough, before - if not for that damn mustache. The silky black hair tickles her upper lip and she giggles into his mouth at the sensation. 

“Wait,” Jake pulls away, face wrinkled in disdain. “What the hell is so funny, sweetheart?” 

“This.” she strokes one side of his fake mustache. “It tickles when you kiss me.” 

“I knew there was a reason I hated this damn thing.” he grumbles, tugging her closer. “I shouldn’t have put it on” 

“You look cute.” she thumbs his cheekbone.  

Cassandra has looked at this face a thousand times, before. She's mentally calculated the exact angles of his face, applied DaVinci’s equation for perfection to every millimeter of flesh and bone, and let it take shape in her dreams, her hallucinations. The equation for his face is a star burst when her synesthesia takes over and it brings the scent of wood and fabric and metal. It is the only time she's ever enjoyed synesthesia. 

“Here you are, handsome.” the bartender, evidently, is Little Miss Can't Take A Damn hint, because she's pressing up against the bar and making a show of the way her breasts move with every breath, as if they are some magnificent exhibit. 

“Let me tell you something.” his arm never leaves Cassie even as he leans closer to the bartender. “Last time I talked to a woman in a bar, I ended up in a brawl. And this woman,” Cassie gives him a squeeze as if to show the bartender who Jake belongs to. “This is Cassie. This is who I came with and who I intend to leave with. My advice to you? Go home, sweetheart. You're too damn young to throw your life away in a place like this.”

She tugs her cape back into place, covering herself properly, hands him the beers, and steps away from the bar with a huff. He slides a hundred dollar bill across the bar and tilts his head. 

“Go. Do better.”

With that he grabs the beers and leads Cassie away from the bar. 

“Jake?” Cassie tilts her head in confusion. “How do you end up in a bar brawl?”

“When Lamia comes in with the end of the world on her arm.” Jake explains quickly and quietly. Cassie sort of shrinks back at the mention of Lamia but it doesn’t go unnoticed by her companion. He leans down a little to whisper in her ear. “Hey, all that’s over now, Cassie. Forget about it. Let’s have that drink.” 

… 

That drink escalates. Or, devolves, depending on your view of alcohol. The flare of nerves, anticipation of a night going suddenly wrong as it has in the past, disappears as whatever magic that had been wreaking havoc in the nightclub, seems to have gone dormant. Not that they would be of any use, had it suddenly awakened ready for a fight. Ezekiel is down a shirt and a belt in a game that sort of melds the idea of strip poker with darts and a drinking game. 

Eve and Flynn appear to be readying themselves for battle with a pitcher of beer and their imaginations spread out on a tablecloth of scribbled on napkins. Battle plans and monsters and Excalibur. Jake and Cassie are more than happy to leave them to it, both of them far too occupied with each other to worry about Eve, Flynn, and Ezekiel. Jenkins would take care of it. At some point. Probably. 

“Are we really doing this?” it’s a giggly mumble against his chin, small hands curling into the collar of his shirt. 

“Doin’ what?” 

Not that he’s paying any more attention, what with the way his hands are tugging insistently at her blouse, hoping to get the white fabric free from her skirt at some point in the evening. Preferably sooner rather than later. 

“Making out like teenagers in a dark corner?” Cassie giggles again, even as she tugs him closer.  

“Do you want to stop?” Jake raises an eyebrow, hoping to make a persuasive argument as to why they  _ should  _ neck like a couple of drunk teenagers at a rave. 

“Nope.” and with that said, she sinks her teeth into his bottom lip. 

But, there is one small detail about his cowboy costume that she’d forgotten about. Up until now, the fake mustache had been forgotten - she’d been more worried about not losing him in the crowd of gyrating glitter bombs than the caterpillar he was wearing on his face.  _ But _ , she’s kissing him, and she can feel the silky hairs tickling her upper lip. 

His arm slides around her waist, other hand cupping the back of her neck, and his hips shift forward, pressing her into the wall. Normally, she’d be into it. The last few times they’d done this, he’d pulled noises from her that she didn’t know a human could make. It’s just that damn mustache. It tickles and she’s can’t help it when she splutters against his mouth, dropping into giggles. 

“What?” Jake grumbles, pulling away from her. 

Barely able to contain herself, she points vaguely upwards, hoping the convey her point without words because they just were not going to happen. He seems to understand though because he utters a soft curse word and rips it off. 

“Knew I shouldn’t have worn it.” he looks at the thing with disgust, almost unable to believe he’d spent the whole night with it attached to his face. He tosses it over his shoulder and looks down at Cassie, again. “Better?” 

“Much.” 

She loops her arms around his neck and tugs him back down. It’s much more comfortable without that  _ thing  _ attached to his face and she forces herself to lock in on the way he feels. Warm and hard and pressed up against her in all the right ways. She grounds herself in that, holds onto it before her synesthesia can bring this whole thing to a screeching halt. 

“Oh,” Cassie pulls away slightly. “Jake?” 

“Cassie?” 

“No more fake mustaches.” 

Jake just laughs and mumbles his agreement against her cheek. A good ol’ Oklahoma boy liked to dress traditionally but for a pretty girl, they could be persuaded to forgo the facial hair. Fake or real. 

Jacob Stone preferred whatever let him kiss Cassandra Cillian. 


End file.
